Fog Heart

by Thomas Tessier

  ‘Stay stay stay I said please but stay stay stay they said I had to stay there till they came come back come back the barn the barn the birds came off the barn the roof oh no oh no—’

  ‘Only three,’ Jan said. ‘The clearing beyond the barn. Sue sat me down there and said don’t move.’

  ‘Come back come back and then you see you see oh no the dead grey squirrel in the grass oh no—’

  Jan gasped, tears in her eyes. ‘It was just a game of hide and seek, but sometimes they’d play it as a trick on me. One of them would hide me somewhere and tell me to wait there until the others found me, but then they wouldn’t come. I was too young to know what was going on, and so I’d sit there and wait. And wait. And nobody would come.’ Jan gave a shuddery laugh. ‘Seems like it took me years to catch on, I was such a…’

  ‘Ashes in the grass grey and red colour of the dead the dead the dead squirrel in the grass oh no sister sister brother mother father sister don’t go don’t go don’t leave me again—’

  Oona was curled up tightly now, lying with her head on Jan’s knee. Oona barely moved. Her eyes were wide open and her hands covered her chest protectively. She spoke in what was nearly her normal speaking voice, but the words came in short, jagged spasms that didn’t always match the slower movements of her mouth.

  ‘Bird of prey bird of night raven crow and corbie come oh no oh no blood on the grass grey and red I’m dead I’m dead—’

  ‘That’s right,’ Jan said. ‘There was a dead squirrel beside me in the grass. I don’t know if the other kids put it there, or if it just happened to be there, but it was only a few feet away. I wanted to move, but I couldn’t. I don’t know why, maybe it was because I’d been told to stay put, and at that age I did what the older kids told me, regardless. And I didn’t want to look at it, but I had to, because I’d never seen anything that bloody before. I was three. The birds had been at it already.’

  ‘Mother sister father brother help me help oh mother save me save me save me can you save me—’

  ‘And they came back for more.’

  Jan seemed to be in a trance of her own. But she spoke in a soft voice, and the only obvious signs of distress were the occasional tears that trickled down her face. Oona, on the other hand, was rigid with terror and pain, and her voice grew fainter, as if she were speaking from the bottom of a cave.

  Charley was vaguely annoyed by all this, but fascinated too. He knew nothing about the story Jan and Oona were jointly exploring, least of all whether there was any truth in it. But he had been paying fairly close attention, and he couldn’t honestly say that Jan had been leading Oona, that Oona was simply using clues given to her on a silver platter. Perhaps Jan had already provided the basic outline when she was talking with them in the other room, earlier. But at this stage, Charley would not put anything past Oona. Perhaps she was seeing something that really happened to Jan at the age of three. That only made it worse, of course, and Charley wished again that they had stayed home.

  ‘Wings around my head around me oh no birds of night birds of prey come sweeping round me in the middle of the day they pick and stab and poke and tear all is blood and flesh—’

  ‘And the eyes,’ Jan continued. ‘The whole flock came back, ten, fifteen of them. And they flapped and walked all around me and kept on eating the squirrel, pulling it apart bit by bit, and I remember how they jabbed and pulled the eyes out and ate right through the hole, into the skull.’

  ‘Jesus, Jan. Please.’ But she wasn’t listening to him.

  ‘They didn’t hurt me. They just – touched me.’

  ‘Mother! can you can you save me save save me please please don’t leave me alone here Sister! Brother! Father! Mother!’

  ‘But nobody came back for me. Until later, much later,’ Jan said. Absently, she began to stroke the side of Oona’s face. ‘Nobody came.’

  Oona’s voice suddenly changed. She sounded older, less of a child. She sat up and gazed at Charley, but it was not as if she were seeing him. She was gazing blindly in his direction.

  ‘When the laird the laird the laird when the laird went down to Ravenswood to Ravenswood with his bride his bride—’

  ‘I didn’t want to go,’ Jan said. Another tear escaped from her eye and coursed across her cheek.

  ‘Oh no oh no oh no don’t leave me—’

  Charley exhaled and sat back, feeling as empty as a sack of skin and bones. Now he could see where Oona was leading him, and he felt stripped of his intelligence, suddenly stupid and vacant. It was true, Jan had wanted to rent a house or a flat in Galway, to stay in the city. He was the one who had preferred the rustic whitewashed cottage a few miles out in the countryside, where on a good day you could just see the sea.

  Ravenswood. His wife had apparently suffered some childhood trauma over crows or ravens, and he’d taken her to a place called Ravenswood. Brilliant. Why hadn’t the stupid bitch ever let on? It was his doing, and yet he couldn’t help feeling angry that Jan had silently agreed, had gone along with his wishes. Charley was the Laird of Ravenswood. He’d taken his young bride there. This was all still Scott, of course, but at last he could see how Oona had mangled it into a kind of rough truth.

  ‘Don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me—’

  Which was exactly what he’d done – left her out there when he went into the college every day. He had lectures, tutorials, notes to take in the library, bookshops to browse. And all those merry hours spent in pubs with his colleagues, his students.

  Oona screamed: ‘Mother don’t leave me!’

  ‘Just for a minute,’ Jan answered, tears running freely down her face now. ‘It was just for a minute.’

  ‘Oh no oh no oh no Mother!’

  ‘To get a cup of tea.’

  Oona thrashed wildly on the cushions, but her arms were held tightly to her sides. She struggled as if she were trying to get out of a strait-jacket. Or, Charley realized, as if she were all wrapped up in blankets. Her voice raced, frantic, trapped.

  ‘Bird of night bird of prey come to get me in the middle of the day raven crow and corbie come oh no oh no oh no dark of day black in the sky raven crow and corbie come to circle in and take my – oh no oh no oh no – Muh–muh–muh–Mother!’

  ‘It was such a lovely day,’ Jan said, her voice dull. ‘Too nice to stay indoors. You were in the pram. I was reading Flann O’Brien, The Dalkey Archive. In the backyard – the garden, they call it there. I didn’t care for the book, so I went to get some magazines. And I put the kettle on for a cup of tea.’

  ‘Black black black black black – Mother! don’t leave me Mam don’t leave me oh no oh no Muh–muh–muh–Mother! Mam!’

  ‘I waited for the water to boil. I was reading an article about the hostages in Iran. I waited for the tea to steep. When I got to the door to the backyard, they were on the pram. Black, like a collar round you.’

  ‘No,’ Charley struggled to say, his throat clogged, his face burning with blood in the skin. ‘No.’

  ‘Save me save me save me save me save me save me Mother can you save me save me save me—’

  ‘Fiona…’

  ‘Muh–muh–muh–muh—’

  Rain spattered the windows. Oona writhed furiously and then let out one long savage scream that lingered in the room even after her voice had collapsed.

  ‘Couldn’t,’ Jan continued vacantly. ‘I couldn’t move, I saw the blood on their beaks. I didn’t hear you. There were five or six of them. I didn’t hear you at all.’

  ‘This didn’t happen,’ Charley stated.

  ‘I threw something. It was too late. I threw something and yelled, and they flew off a little ways. I got you then, but it was too late. And I wanted to go with you, I didn’t want to stay there any more. You must take me with you. I didn’t want to let you go, I didn’t, I didn’t. But I couldn’t move.’

  ‘This is not true,’ Charley said bitterly, staring down at Oona. She was lying still, as if dead. If only you were. ‘Yes, there w
ere ravens in the area, but this is – fantasy.’

  Jan turned to him. ‘So I took her into the new nursery, and I started the fire under the crib. I put the heater and fuel can by it and I got down on the chaise and waited.’ Jan started to cry again. ‘Whoosh … it would have been all right, too. If only the van man didn’t come and save me.’

  The man driving by, who’d seen the smoke and flames from the road. He had managed to pull Jan out, not badly burned but half-dead from the heavy fumes. Mr Hurley, by name. Mr Hurley, who had not been able to get back inside for Fiona.

  The things you remember. Days later, surveying the charred remains of the cottage, Charley had come across a coffee mug from the Kilkenny Workshop in the trampled garden grass near the place where the pram had been, and wondered. I threw something.

  ‘Don’t,’ Jan said piteously. ‘Don’t save me…’

  ‘Jan.’

  Oona’s mouth was open, slack. She still didn’t move, but a voice emanated from her. A child again.

  ‘Mother don’t leave me Father don’t leave us don’t go don’t go don’t leave me again no more no more no more I want you I want you Mother Father you left me left me left us – you.’

  Oona seemed to crumble into herself.

  Charley had to move, to do something.

  * * *

  Carrie wondered if it was over. Oona was still and silent, curled up between Jan and Carrie. Her eyes were open, gazing off at the window. Tiny beads of saliva had gathered at the corners of her mouth.

  Charley O’Donnell got up and lit a thin cigar. He paced by himself, away from the rest of the group. His wife didn’t move. She had stopped crying and was sitting passively now, staring at Oona and stroking her hair.

  Carrie wondered absently if the O’Donnells had just had the kind of breakthrough that they wanted – or needed. Their story sounded too terrible to be true, like a nightmare that becomes a confused part of everyday life.

  But her mind was too full of her own frightful and uncertain thoughts to worry about anybody else’s problems for long. Oliver looked patient and imperturbable. He let out a small sigh every now and then, but otherwise hardly stirred.

  ‘Love me like the angels honey…’

  Oona rose and sat back on her heels, legs apart. She rocked very slightly, rolling her head around on her shoulders as if to loosen stiff muscles in her neck. Carrie saw that her eyes were nearly closed, and then Oona’s hair swung across her face. After a moment or two of unintelligible moaning, Oona began to speak in a female voice with an English accent.

  ‘I don’t want don’t want don’t want to want to want you just to be the one the one the one in London no no Becky darling Becky no no not like that be careful of your teeth gently with the lips and tongue not the teeth that’s it that’s better bye bye let’s go bye bye Bayern Bayern München Bayern bye bye Becky—’

  Oona put her hands between her legs, up under the skirt of her dress. Rocked slightly for a few moments.

  ‘Bye bye bye bye Bayern Becky by my my my Marty Marty Marta Marta Martha Martha my my my Myra! Myra! my Myra! be my Myra and eee–eee–eat-uh eat a eat a eat a Ian Ian Ian eee–and–oh oh my my muh-muh-muh Myra—’

  She froze for a second.

  ‘The knife. Here. Beautiful.’

  Charley O’Donnell came closer, apparently curious now. He stood near the edge of the group and watched.

  Oona stuck out her tongue, bit down hard on it, and let the blood ooze over her chin. She made rasping, gurgling sounds, and the blood flew from her mouth in a fine mist. Carrie saw some of it dapple the water in the stone basin, and tiny pink plumes were visible against the white sand as the blood diffused.

  Oona’s head was slung forward, on her chest. A moment later she began to speak in the voice of a young man.

  ‘Look at her. Beautiful. Now my heart is full.’

  Oona threw back her head, and her long hair whipped through the air. Her face was smeared red, her eyes were quite bloodshot now, and she began to tremble violently. The palms of her hands, scratched and cut, were held open on her thighs. She seemed to spit out the words in tortured clots. Blood flew from her, and she spoke in several voices, each one tumbling out of the last, careening into the next, so that it often seemed as if two, three or even four of them were struggling to be heard at the very same instant.

  ‘Bye bye Mummy bye bye bye bye Daddy bye bye – oh no oh no don’t go don’t leave me again – you don’t want a baby you don’t want a bay uh bee – love me like the angels honey – Franny love me love me love me please – first it was Mummy then Daddy then a then a then a then a – what are you doing! – eat my Ian Myra my Myra eat my Ian Myra eat it – muh muh muh Mother Father Sister Brother come back – to me to me meet me in the kelpie’s flow and your name shall be lost for ever more ever more ever more lost lost lost in the kelpie’s flow meet me in the kelpie’s flow your name shall be lost for ever more ever Moher Moher Moher muh muh Mother Mother don’t go – corbies cliffs sea me in the sea—’

  Oona came to a sudden halt for a few seconds, although her body continued to rocket within itself. Carrie realized that she felt cold, and she glanced up briefly. The room was murky, full of what she first thought had to be smoke – either from the many candles, or a fire somewhere in the house. But then she noticed that it felt cool and damp on her skin, as if a raincloud or fog had drifted in through an open window. It was dark outside, rain still pouring down, driven by the wind. She saw that the windows were steamed up, covered with a fog of condensation.

  Carrie felt as if she were drowning.

  * * *

  Charley relit his cigar.

  ‘See me by the sea me in the sea the little bastard get hers now oh no oh no see them run they run they run catch her push her down oh no oh no oh yes oh yes when you slam down the rock do you feel it in your heart do you feel it feel it feel it oh yes catch her push her pick a rock a chunk of brick cement concrete stone a rock in the back of the head oh no the angels love me now like oh yes oh God the sea by the sea by the see me love me now don’t go don’t leave me now don’t go don’t go muh muh muh Mary Rose Mam by the sea the kelpie strikes take me take me with you this time see them run they run they run take me don’t go don’t—’

  The words died abruptly. Oona seemed to be tottering as she sat there on her heels. A terrible whine came from her, and her face was contorted with pain. So much blood. It was terrible to watch something like this, Charley thought, terrible too that you can hardly bring yourself to look away from it. Whatever she may be saying about any of us, she is killing herself by inches. She writes these mad moments in her own blood. Oona had something of the deranged poet about her, slowly eviscerating herself to find an impossible truth.

  But was there such truth? Was there anything?

  He was still wondering what Oona had meant when she told him that he might have to do something for her. What?

  Charley had no idea. About any of it. All he knew for sure was that he wanted another drink. Then he noticed that his hands and face were damp. There was a mist in the room. Now the other three looked from Oona to the heavy stone basin in the centre of the table. The surface of the water seemed to glitter and flash, as if it were glowing with pale green fire. The mist was thicker over the basin, like a small cloud gathering to itself.

  Then everything broke up madly.

  Oona’s whine grew harsher and louder, turned into a fearful wail. She clawed at the bloodstained front of her dress, popped a button and clawed at her skin. The others turned back to her, and Charley stepped closer. He caught a glimpse of Roz, her body tense, looking as if she were about to stand up from her seat on the far side of the room.

  Jan and the Spence woman both had tears in their eyes again, but neither moved or attempted to touch Oona, who seemed to be losing herself in an unravelling frenzy – about to explode. The Englishman, Charley noticed, had a fine speckling of blood on his face – he’d caught some spray, and didn’t know it yet.

&
nbsp; Oona’s keening soon became physically unbearable. It rasped your skin, lanced into your ears, your brain, and raced like acid down the inside of your spine.

  Oona pushed herself up, so that she was kneeling straight as a schoolgirl at prayer. Roz was on her feet, moving. But before she could get there, Oona gave a paralysing scream. Charley felt stunned by the depth and force of it. She sounded as if she were trying to find certain words, but couldn’t – and that only made it so much worse, somehow.

  A second later, chaos and panic.

  ‘Oona? Are you—’

  ‘Honey, don’t—’

  Oona dived forward and slammed her forehead against the thick rim of the stone basin with a splintering crunch. Blood flew off to the sides and blossomed like red ink in the water. The basin was so solid and heavy that it barely moved. The water did slosh around in it a little, sparkling coldly.

  ‘Oh, God!’

  ‘Oona!’

  ‘Jesus,’ Charley muttered.

  Roz got there just as the Spence woman was trying to put her arms around Oona, and the two of them grappled with her. Jan sat still, with a dazed look on her face.

  ‘Help me with her.’

  ‘Have you got her? Easy there.’

  Oona slid off the table and onto the floor, face up. Blood gushed from the torn flesh, drenching her face and flooding over her lips. There was an ugly sucking noise, as Oona drew it in with each gasping breath, but then the blood came right back out of her in a choking foam.

  Charley stepped back out of the way. He discovered that he was shaking and shivering uncontrollably.

  * * *

  Oliver backed away and stood near O’Donnell, but not so close that he had to speak to him. He lit a cigarette and watched the women trying to help Oona. You do know me, he thought. You know what I learned from the incident at Ballapul.

  That I like it.

  So don’t cheat me now.

  20

  Carrie insisted that they wait for news about Oona in the emergency room at St Raphael’s Hospital. Oliver had driven them there, and then wanted to leave for New York, but Carrie refused to go until she heard something. The O’Donnells had decided not to trail along to the hospital, and went home.